


From Supernovas to Nebulas: the story of Death and New Life

by Ishxallxgood



Series: Sleeping at Last [3]
Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Spacedogs - Fandom
Genre: Adam Raki Loves Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Adam dies, Adam rides that cock, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Darko is the best friend they can ever have, Darko tries to help, Ghost Sex, Heavy Angst, M/M, Nigel (Charlie Countryman) Loves Adam Raki, Nigel is in denial, Nigel is not coping, Nigel is not coping well, No seriously this is super angst, The road to happiness is paved in tears, adam is a ghost, adam is trying, cw: suicide attempt, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/pseuds/Ishxallxgood
Summary: Sequel toSleeping at Lastyou do need to read that first or none of this will make senseAdam dies. He dies and becomes a ghost. He understands why he is a ghost. He will spend every moment of his afterlife trying to help Nigel move on. Find his smile again.Smut in chapter 2
Relationships: Nigel (Charlie Countryman)/Adam Raki
Series: Sleeping at Last [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610731
Comments: 29
Kudos: 55





	1. Supernovas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Devereauxs_Disease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/gifts).



> Sorry not sorry.
> 
> This was supposed to be crack. It was supposed to be smutty crack, but I started writing it and it turned to ANGST. I hope you give it a try anyway. Cry with me.
> 
> Thank you to my darling [Devereauxs_Disease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease) for always sticking by me and being my greatest cheerleader. I would never write anything if not for your constant support. 
> 
> Thank you to [Belladonnawyck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck) for crying with me and helping me give this a look over

"Baby?"

"Yes, Nigel?"

"C'mon, baby. Darling? Adam? Wake up, it's time for your meds."

Adam smiles, sitting up to brush a hand through Nigel's hair. "I'm awake, Ni-" He stops. Nigel hasn't moved. His hand had brushed through air. Something is  _ wrong. _

"C'mon, baby, if you get up I'll make you some Amy's. You can't have a lot because it messes with your system, but-" Nigel's voice trails off too. He shifts closer, reaches to pull Adam against him and Adam shudders as Nigel passes straight through him.

Realization hits him slower than he would have liked. He is dead. And Nigel, well Nigel hasn’t realized it yet.

Adam gets up, or rather floats up, for the laws of physics are quite different when one is a ghost. He stares down at what was once his body. It is very different than the body he had been used to for the better part of his life. In fact, he can barely recognize himself. He drifts closer. Takes in the grey pallor of his skin. His sunken cheeks, thinning hair. His eyes are still closed, but if they had been open, he simply knew the blue of them would be a dull grey. He is skeletal in Nigel’s arms, so small and fragile looking, nothing like the robust man he had once been. 

How Nigel could possibly find him  _ beautiful _ like that was beyond him. But Nigel had told him every chance he got, how beautiful he was,  _ gorgeous _ even, and it hadn't been a lie. Had it been anyone else, Adam would have assumed it was a lie, but not from Nigel. Adam knew when Nigel was lying. Nigel was surprisingly terrible at lying, or at the very least lying to Adam. Nigel lied about a wealth of things. Like putting away his dishes (he never did), or changing over the laundry (he'd do it the next morning when he realized he never did), or not smoking (he would have just had a cigarette before coming in, as if Adam wouldn't have been able to taste it on him. Although he did earnestly attempt to quit once. It lasted about a week and Adam had to admit he hated it, because Nigel didn't taste like Nigel without the cigarettes.) Nigel never lied about the important things though. Like when he told him that they had found a cluster of young blue stars near the core of Messier 110, or when he'd tell him he was gorgeous, or that he loved him.

So Nigel never lied about finding Adam  _ beautiful _ . Adam saw it every time, the truth in his eyes. Well not so much his eyes, but more his face in general. Adam's heart would still race every time Nigel looked at him like that; like he was the most extraordinary thing in the universe. And it made Adam's breath catch catch every time Nigel would catch him looking and flash him  _ that _ smile. It made everything worth it when Nigel’s whole face would light up whenever he caught Adam's eye, even for a fraction of a second. It was so very different than the way Nigel looks now.

Nigel is in pain. So much pain, and Adam gets it. For once in his life, well afterlife, he gets it. What Nigel is feeling. Because he feels it too. If only he could wrap Nigel up in his arms and comfort him the way he knows Nigel likes to be comforted. With soft touches and whispers of their infinite universe. It had been their lullaby these past few months, the one thing they both could cling onto with Adam’s impending death. But Adam is dead now, and Nigel, well Nigel is clinging to his corpse desperately reciting the laws of the Universe. 

Adam  _ aches _ . 

Every last inch of his being aches and he doesn’t understand why. He had thought that once you died, pain and  _ heartache _ would be a thing of the past. No body, no nervous system, and yet. Never in his life had he ever felt a pain so all consuming. He had thought he knew pain. Between the disease which destroyed his body and the intrusive thoughts that Nigel couldn’t  _ possibly _ love him anymore, Adam had  _ thought _ he had known what it was to hurt. But now, his very soul aches to see Nigel so desperate, so broken, and if he could cry he would, but he can’t. 

He is helpless. 

It is agony.

To witness his strong, unbreakable Nigel in such despair, and be unable to  _ do _ anything about it. Nigel can’t hear him. Can’t feel him. Can’t even sense that he is  _ there _ . Adam wants to cry along with him. Cling to him and assure him that he is there. Watching. Always watching. He will never leave Nigel. Not until he can find his smile again, and laugh amongst the stars.

But it is unbearable. 

It's been less than ten minutes and it is already too much. Staying with Nigel, watching over him, Adam knows that by doing so, he is signing himself up for an eternity of pain. Nigel is stubborn. And faithful. And loyal to a fault. Adam knows that he would have to perform a miracle to help Nigel smile again, but he’ll be damned if he didn’t at the very least  _ try. _

What can he do though? Adam can't get through to Nigel. He can't make Nigel _ see _ him, sense him, unless he wants to. This much he understands. With Nigel unwilling to accept his death, there's not much Adam can do to actually sooth him. Besides, it's not like he's corporeal or anything. Nigel had passed right through him. He had passed right through Nigel, and the bed. It's not like the movies. It's not like he can manipulate objects, but then again, it isn't like he had  _ tried. _

Adam looks around the room. There's not much there anymore. His models are gone. The mirrors are gone. There's not even a lamp on the nightstand. The dresser across the room is still there, though. As is the photo of him and Nigel right after their civil ceremony. They are smiling,  _ beaming, _ as Harlan had called it. Happier than they had ever been. It was the start to the rest of their lives,  _ together. _ Through sickness and in health, before they knew how difficult  _ sickness _ would be. 

Nigel never let it bother him though. Nigel had always assured him every day that it was worth it. That  _ Adam _ was worth it. It had made the procedures worth it. The clinical trials. It had been hard though. Adam never felt like any of it was worth it. He had nothing left to offer Nigel, but Nigel had still insisted that he hung the stars every night.

The stars.

Adam looks up. The stars on the ceiling are still there, forever bearing the shape of Taurus. Adam takes a moment to linger on the place where the Crab Nebula would reside. Nigel liked to call it  _ their _ nebula; death and new life. It was a silly notion. One couldn't  _ own _ a nebula, but Adam understood the sentiment. It was the thing that brought them together, well that and black holes. But the crab nebula was the core of their first  _ date _ ; their first  _ everything _ .

He pulls his gaze away from the constellation and for a second he wonders where the rest of his things are, and then he  _ remembers _ . He remembers the fits he used to throw. How he would literally throw anything he could get his hands on. He threw his Bandai Saturn V model once. It broke upon impact with the wall and Nigel had to physically restrain him from hurting himself afterwards. After that episode, Darko made the executive decision to remove as much stuff from Adam's room as possible while Nigel attempted to distract him with kisses. In the end it didn't matter. He eventually became too weak to even get up, let alone throw things. He did manage to knock over the nightstand a few times, and then they ended up strapping it to the wall.

He feels sorry about it now. For the amount of trouble he put Nigel and Darko through. But Nigel had always held him after his episodes, and assured him that it was okay. That he was proud that Adam still had the strength to get up and throw things. That in the end they were just things, and what  _ really _ mattered was the fact that Adam still had that  _ fire _ burning within him. Then he would kiss him, and worship him as if he were someone worthy to be worshiped.

Nigel's still worshiping him now. Even though he’s dead. Adam would like it very much if Nigel would release his corpse already, though. He’s been dead long enough for him to know that his bowels have probably already been released. Although, there probably wasn’t much in there to begin with. He hadn't had much of an appetite the past few weeks as _everything_ made him sick. What he wouldn't give for some Amy’s right now. If he could, he'd force his way back into his body just so Nigel would keep his word and heat some up for him.

It's pointless though. He's dead. What would be the point of reanimating a corpse. What he should do is figure out how to possess a  _ living _ body. Find his way back to Nigel and tell him of their infinite universe, but for now, what he needs is a distraction, a voice of reason, Darko.

Yes. Darko would know what to do. Darko always seems to know what to do. 

It takes him a while, but eventually he is able to manipulate Nigel's phone onto the floor. It falls with a thud, drawing Nigel's attention away from his corpse. Nigel stares at the phone for a moment, and Adam can practically hear him echo the thought that  _ Darko would know what to do. _

\-----

When Darko enters the room, Adam can tell just by looking at him that he already knows. Relief floods him,  _ knowing _ that if anyone can convince Nigel, it will be Darko. 

"Darko," Nigel says desperately. "He won't wake up. It's time for his meds, but he won't wake up."

Darko glances between Nigel and the corpse in his arms and Adam can see the grief on his face. Reading emotions doesn't come any easier as a ghost, but Darko has always been easy to read. Expressive. 

Nigel pets his hair again, tucking errant curls behind his ears. "Come on, baby," he pleads, "Darko's here, you don't want to be rude do you, darling?"

Darko is calmer than Adam has ever seen him. He approaches Nigel as if he is approaching a wounded animal, afraid that he will startle him. Nigel must know that he is dead, he simply must. It has been hours, and surely the rigamortis is starting to sink in. Darko sighs, placing a hand gently on Nigel’s shoulder. “Hey, Nigel, frate, you have to let him go.”

Nigel flinches under Darko’s touch, shakes off his hand to clutch tighter at Adam’s corpse. Darko sighs, gives Nigel's shoulder another squeeze before stepping out of the room. Adam knows he's going to call the paramedics to take his body, it is what he would have done if he had been capable of operating the phone. 

Adam is restless when the paramedics come. Nigel lashes out against them, refusing to give up his corpse, insisting he's still alive. Darko has to physically restrain him, and Adam's soul hurts to see Nigel so broken. 

Darko stays afterwards. He helps Nigel into the shower, turns it on to wash (what Adam can only assume is) the stench of death off of him. Darko changes Adam's soiled sheets, not like they would be needing the bed anymore, but leaves Adam's pillow the way it was. Adam wants to ask why, but finds his answer when Nigel comes back and buries his face in it. 

Darko leaves him be, steps out of the room to make the necessary phone calls, to inform Harlan, and Beth, and the few friends he had made at Mount Wilson, of his demise. Adam lingers, not wanting to leave Nigel alone, but knowing that Nigel can't sense him. He settles against Nigel, phantom hands brushing against Nigel's hair, unable to feel the strands, his warmth, his anything. It is unsurprising, as a ghost can't  _ feel, _ but he had hoped. Hoped that he could at the very least hold Nigel one last time. 

\-----

The days pass slowly, and although Adam's the one who's literally a ghost, Nigel's the one who looks ghost like.  _ Lost. _ Adam's not lost. He knows where he is, what he's meant to do. He  _ knows _ he's dead. Nigel on the other hand, Nigel will not accept that he's dead. Nigel refuses to acknowledge it, making Darko's job all that much harder. 

Adam's grateful for Darko though. If not for Darko, Nigel would now be clinging to his rotting corpse. Instead he is secured in a facility. He innards replaced with embalming fluid, although he personally would have preferred a cremation. Dust to dust and all that, but they never really talked about it, and honestly, he's dead. He doesn't care much about what happens to his body, what he does care about is what happens to  _ Nigel. _

Nigel is numb to it all. Adam doesn't even have to  _ know him _ to know. Nigel is quiet and subdued. His face perfectly blank as people filter in and offer him their condolences. He even takes Beth's hand when she passes. No biting remarks or not so subtle insults. He just takes her hand like everyone else's and nods. 

Nigel sits silent and stoic as Harlan speaks, the words washing over him unheard. Harlan sobs at the podium, wiping fruitlessly at his never ending tears, and Adam is sympathetic. He can understand how it was one thing to have to bury Adam's father, an old friend gone too soon, and how it is an entirely different thing to have to bury your best friend's son. A boy you thought of as your own. Watched him grow, thrive, only to wither away and die before his prime. Adam understands his grief. He also understands Nigel's. 

Watching him now, Adam can relate. Nigel is internalizing his grief the way he did his father's passing. Only Adam understood his father was dead. That he had to keep moving forward. That life goes on. Nigel, well Nigel is stuck in a place between living and dead. 

\-----

"Fucking shit, Adam," Darko groans, falling back against the couch taking another swig of Țuică. "I don't know how much longer I can do this. How the fuck did you put up with that motherfucker for so long."

Adam freezes, halfway between the bedroom where Nigel is reciting the laws of the universe again and the living room where Darko is drinking himself into oblivion. Darko just addressed him,  _ directly. _

"You can see me?" He asks, shaking himself from his stupor and floats over to where Darko is sitting. 

Darko continues to drink, staring off into the corner, not even acknowledging Adam's presence. "Fuck me," Darko mumbles when he finally lowers the bottle. "Nenorocitule got me so fucked up I'm talking to a dead man."

Adam sighs with a shake of his head. Of course Darko can’t see him, can't hear him, because he's dead.  _ A ghost. _

"You know," Darko says, taking another swig of alcohol, staring right through Adam, "you changed him. Took an angry, violent man and made him kind. We were the dust to dust, barren men filled with darkness, but you, Adam Raki, with golden string, you clothed our universe in light. I don't think he can go back into the dark, I don't think  _ I _ can go back into the dark."

"I know," Adam says softly, settling down next to Darko. "He used to tell me that all the time. I don't know what to do, Darko. I know you can't hear me, that  _ he _ can't hear me, see me, feel me, but I just can't leave him. I can't let him do this to himself. He's going to self destruct, Darko, and I can't bear to witness that happening. Nigel is… Nigel is the universe I'm helpless in…"

He had never understood those words when Nigel used to say them to him. Things about how he was like a constellation and as beautiful as endless, but he understands it now. How one person could be the universe, because now that Nigel is out of reach; an abstract he cannot feel, and can only admire and love from afar, he  _ understands. _

\-----

The days pass. Weeks bleed into months and months a year. It feels like an eternity, and it feels like a day. Time is a construct when one is a ghost. Days and nights mean nothing to him. He is  _ timeless.  _

Being a ghost isn't any easier than being alive. Adam finds that for the most part he is still just a fly on the wall. No one pays him much attention, and he consumes all of Nigel's attention. Nigel who refuses to let go. Nigel who goes every night to talk to a slab of granite. Nigel who still keeps his schedules and eats frozen macaroni and cheese for dinner and All Bran for breakfast. Adam hates it. Adam hates every moment of being dead, because the brilliant, vibrant, Nigel he knew in life is gone. 

He still loves Nigel. He loves Nigel more than he can bear. He loves Nigel so much he is willing to leave California. To follow him halfway around the world and bring him home, so that he can find his smile again.

The next time Darko's over while Nigel's at the cemetery, he manages to get the speakers to play Romanian music, which causes Darko to leap in the air and curse excessively. It would have been comical if it isn't so sad. Darko curses the smart speaker and Adam can see him physically restrain himself from throwing it across the room. 

Adam frowns. That did not get Darko's attention the way he wanted it to. He needs Darko to take Nigel home. He needs Darko to get Nigel far away from this place. This place that is saturated with the memory of him. Adam knows the only way to get Nigel to smile again is to help Nigel forget about him. A change of pace, a blast to the past. Adam needs Darko to realize that he must take Nigel back to Bucharest.

_ Bucharest. _

Adam hurriedly makes his way over to the bookcase, focuses all his energy and manages to pry the book from its place. It falls to the floor with a thud, drawing Darko's attention. 

With a frown, Darko crosses the room, walking entirely through Adam and stares down at the book. "What the fuck," he says to himself as he bends down to pick up the book. With a sigh he leafs through it for a moment before putting it back onto the shelf. 

"You know, Adam," Darko says to the blank wall before him, "he never did get a chance to take you to that shithole."

Adam floats over to him, occupying the space Darko is taking to, because even after all this time, after all their conversations, Darko still can't pinpoint his location. Although, if he is being honest with himself, it is highly likely that Darko has no idea he is even there, but it's nice to pretend sometimes. To pretend that he's not utterly alone in his existence.

"I would like to go to Bucharest," Adam says, pulling the book back out from the shelf. "I would like you to take him back. Bring him home."

Darko stares wide-eyed as the book falls back to the floor. "Oh fuck," Darko breathes out, bending down to collect the book. A series of expressions cross over his face, too quickly for Adam to decipher, as he drops down onto the couch, fingering the book. Adam smiles, because Darko has settled on a look of disbelief as he flips open the book again. It falls on one of the pages Adam had dogeared, a blurb on an impressive church which he felt drawn to. Darko lets out a sigh, fingers tracing the notes Adam has taken on the building. "You really want to go to Bucharest, don't you, micul print. It's a shit place."

"Yes," Adam says, nodding incessantly, occupying the space next to Darko. He reaches out, places a hand on Darko's shoulder and watches him shudder.

"Fuck, Adam," Darko says dragging a hand across his face. "I hope you're not really here, because fuck if you have to see him like this. You should be up there, with the stars, floating amongst the things you loved most, not down here, watching the slow demise of the one person you loved most." 

"I can't leave him though," Adam objects, chest tight as if he still possessed a physical heart. "He  _ needs _ me Darko, I just need you to take him to Bucharest so he can find himself again."

Darko snaps the book closed, stands to pull his jacket on and looks toward the corner again. "You might be right, micul print, it might be time to take that motherfucker home. A change of pace might be good for him. Maybe then, he can finally look up to the stars and find the one you're on. Maybe if we try hard enough he might even hear your sweet laughter and find a way to laugh along."


	2. Nebulas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigels finds his way back to Bucharest and sees a ghost. A ghost with the smile of an angel. Perhaps for just a moment he can pretend, he can pretend and find his smile again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised smut. It's like depressing ass sex though.

Bucharest is just as loud, and bright, and dirty as he had remembered it. The city of his youth had lost its charm and appeal a long time ago; back when he was still a child, running through the backstreets and alleyways. Even so, for most of his adult life, Bucharest was still his greatest love. He had never thought that there would ever come a day where he would dread coming back, that any other place could ever take the place of _home_ in his heart.

It is difficult to come back. To breathe the heavy city air he once loved so much. To integrate himself back into its network of streets and alleyways. He stops and stares. The Opera House is as beautiful as ever, and he knows that if he were to enter, the music would still be haunting and soothing. And Gabi, oh his Gabi would still be there, and wouldn’t hesitate to throw his ass out. He knows now that he would deserve it. After everything they’ve been through, he _finally_ knows that he would deserve it.

With a sigh he turns his back to the place that once brought so much light to his dark world. He wishes he could go back. Crawl back into that darkness for everything is too bright now. He longs for the darkness to sweep back across him, to blanket out the lights of the city. He wants to drown him in darkness, so he could see the stars, _the night_. 

It has pained him that ever since he’s been back, he could not quite see his stars. Those stars which were promised to him. The stars which were supposed to hold his light and laughter, they are drowned out by the lights of the city he once held so dear. Adam is wrong. Darko is wrong. They had promised him _home_ . They had told him that the night is his, that the stars are his. They had told him that Adam would always be there, right beside him, carrying on with the light of the stars. What did it matter if he carried the light of the stars, if Nigel couldn’t see the goddamn stars. He knew coming _home_ was a terrible idea, that his _true home_ , was back in a small subset of Los Angeles, tuck away at the foot of the Angeles National Forest. 

Nigel wanders. The streets of Bucharest claims him as they drag him along, pulling him toward unfamiliar corners. Forty years he had lived in this city. Forty years learning its secrets and uncovering dark corners. Forty years and he had never once found himself standing outside before the Loups-Garoux cathedral. It is an old place, a forbidden place; off limits. He finds that he cares little for the warnings of old. What does he have to lose now that he hasn’t already lost? It is dark here, isolated, and the steeples are high.

There is a sort of magic in the air as he leans back against the spire. He is high. Higher than he had anticipated, but the air is quiet, and the stars shine bright before him. Taurus snorts down at him and he wants to scream back. 

“YOU PROMISED ME I’LL LAUGH!” He screams into the night, fighting back a sob and the urge to fling himself off the steeple.

“But are you consoled?” A voice that sounds eerily like Adam’s whispers in the night.

He is not consoled. He doesn’t believe he ever will be. How could he? Adam was his everything. Consolation feels like letting go, and he can’t seem to bring himself to let go, not of Adam at least.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Nigel whips his head around. Blurry eyes settling on loose curls and an outline of a body he thinks he knows far too well. He must be hallucinating, because Adam is dead. Adam is in the ground, half a world away. 

"You're not real," he growls, because how many times has it been since the first time he swore he saw his Adam. How many times did he reach for his star, only to have his hands slip through air. How many times can he put his heart through such sorrow.

"Oh, I'm real, sweetheart," the voice that sounds like Adam but can't possibly be Adam says. A hand brushes against his own, blue eyes crinkle at the corners as lips curl up into an achingly familiar smile. 

Nigel stills. This isn’t Adam. That much he knows, but he’s here and _real_ and god Nigel’s been so alone. He blinks back at _not_ Adam, takes in the man perched next to him, sketch book in hand, eyes imploring. He’s _gorgeous_. If Nigel squinted, if he mentally gave the man a haircut and redressed him in Adam’s clothes, if he gave him that spark Adam gets in his eye whenever he looked up at the night sky, Nigel could _almost_ pretend that this _not_ Adam was _his_ Adam. 

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid, but he can’t quite resist the pull. He knows it won’t do anything to fill that gaping hole in his soul. To alleviate the ache in his heart, but maybe, just maybe it’ll help him forget, if not for an hour. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, with a sad smile, tracing _not_ Adam’s cheek with his thumb.

“What brings you up here?” _Not_ Adam asks, eyes bearing uncomfortably into Nigel’s, and for the first time he understood why his beloved hated eye contact. 

“The stars,” Nigel says, dropping his hand and turning his eyes back to the sky. His Adam was up there somewhere, laughing on a star, which one was beyond him. Probably Pollux, sweet, immortal twin to Castor, if Nigel had to choose a star for his darling Adam, he would pick Pollux, that way he could assign himself to Castor, and they would be eternally bound together.

 _Not_ Adam follows his gaze, eyes sweeping across the sky before settling back down onto his sketchbook. “They are pretty. I wish I knew more about space.”

 _Pretty_. _His_ Adam would never simplify the stars to merely just _pretty_. No, _his_ Adam would have found one star (and knowing his Adam, it would be Pollux), and recite its attributes. Define its characteristics and place in the universe. His Adam would probably also go into the history of Pollux, how it received its designation over three hundred years ago, and the Greek Mythology behind its name. This wasn’t _his_ Adam though, his name probably wasn’t even _Adam_ , but Nigel didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to break the illusion.

"Really?" Nigel asks, drawing _not_ Adam towards him. "What would you like to know, gorgeous?"

 _Not_ Adam comes willingly, settling close, his warmth permeating the permanent chill which had settled around Nigel since the night his star died. "I don't know," he says leaning up against Nigel, "you know, like what's out there."

Nigel frowns. This man, albeit beautiful, was everything his Adam was _not_. What he would give to debate the existence of black holes. To discuss the new discoveries around them, the mother fucking merger of not one, but two different sets of black holes within a half hour of one another. "You're going to have to narrow that down, gorgeous."

 _Not_ Adam hums in contemplation as he sets his sketchbook aside. Nigel's eyes follow the movement and finds himself admiring a sketch of Bucharest, laid out before them. Once upon a time he would have appreciated the sketch, admired the fine lines that defined his city, but now, all he can think is that had it been _his_ Adam, he would be examining the chart of tonight's stars.

"Well," _not_ Adam says, eyes sweeping back up to take in the sky, "tell me of our infinite universe."

Nigel freezes. Those words cut deep into his heart, and he has half a mind to toss _not_ Adam from the roof. But a chill runs through him, and he slowly exhales. For a second, he could swear he can feel Adam's touch on his skin. Can smell the subtle hints of citrus and earth. Can taste the salty tang of his sweat slick skin. Can hear the soft panting of his breath. He can't see him though, _his_ Adam, and the sensations pass as quickly as they come. 

"The universe is forever expanding," he hears himself say, in a voice that is entirely foreign to him. "All parts of it moving away from each other faster than the speed of light."

He gets lost in those words. Falls back to a place in time where it is _his_ Adam pressed up against him, whispering those words against his skin. Promising him forever. He doesn't realize he's crying until a hand reaches up and gently swipes the tears from his eyes. He doesn't register the sob that breaks free until tender arms enclose him and his face is buried against the curls of unfamiliar hair, and a scent he can't quite place.

"Hey, it's okay," the voice says. The voice that is so alien yet achingly familiar at the same time. 

Nigel growls. He hates it. The cloying sweetness. The _sympathy_ . It’s not what he needs. He needs _Adam_ , and he can’t have Adam, so he might as well have a distraction. He breaks free from the embrace, wipes his eyes on his sleeve and grabs _not_ Adam by face and kisses him, hands sliding to clutch at his hair.

This kiss is all wrong. It’s too wet, too sloppy, too rough and yet not rough enough. _Not_ Adam tastes like mint and chocolate, and it’s _wrong_ . Wrong. Wrong. WRONG. But Nigel doesn’t relent. He licks his way into _not_ Adam’s mouth. His hands tighten in hair that is entirely too long. _His_ Adam would _hate_ it. Hate that the hair would tickle his nape, fall into his eyes, cover his ears. It would drive _his_ Adam up a wall, and Nigel hates it on principle. 

Nigel nips at him as he parts his lips for his prodding tongue. _Not_ Adam leans into him and finally returns the kiss with a moan. Nigel’s heart almost stops at the sound of it. He knows that moan. It is a moan he has heard countless times in his life. It belongs to _his_ Adam. 

Suddenly, it doesn't matter that his hair is all sorts of wrong and that he tastes different. Because if he closes his eyes. If he focuses on the _feel_ of those strands. If his teeth catch those lips just the right way, he can overpower that taste of wrongness with one of salt and copper, and _that_ he had tasted on _his_ Adam before. If Nigel just lets himself go, lets his mind wander, he could for this moment make himself believe that the man currently in his arms is _his_ Adam, and not just some interloper.

“Slow down there, sweetheart,” _not_ Adam says when Nigel’s hands roam a little too far, breaking the spell. “You should at the very least buy a guy dinner first.”

Nigel releases him. It had been nice. For the first time in three hundred and seventy three days he hadn't felt like he was being swallowed by a black hole. 

"Yeah, dinner," Nigel concedes. He sweeps a hand through _not_ Adam's hair again, chasing that feeling, but it's gone. Like a whisper of smoke. Nigel forces a smile through the tears threatening to fall. "I can do dinner, gorgeous."

 _Not_ Adam smiles back at him slowly. The corners of his lips curling just so, before his lips part. Nigel watches entranced as _not_ Adam's face begin to light up. It is like a punch in the gut when _not_ Adam's eyes _shine_ and all Nigel could think is _gorgeous._

It is akin to falling in love again, the unsteady beating of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach. _Not_ Adam smiles wider, and then it falters, and his eyes dull. Nigel's stomach drops with the reminder that, no, this man, this _gorgeous_ creature before him is _not_ Adam.

"You hungry now?" Nigel asks, throat tight.

“Famished,” _not_ Adam says with a flirtatious smile that _his_ Adam never quite got right.

\-----

Nigel hates it. Having to sit across from _not_ Adam and eat a dinner which tastes like ash in his mouth. _Not_ Adam is talking about Bucharest, eyes shining, simply enamored with the city of his youth. Nigel knows better. The city is a cesspool. A great black pit in which the vermin of the world inhabit, himself included. Its morals aren't worth what a pig could split, and yet here they are. Entertaining a farce so he might forget just for a moment.

Nigel hates it. _Dinner. Pretending._ But as they stumble up the stairs of a so-called heritage building, and he pushes _not_ Adam up against the wall, it was _worth it._ _Not_ Adam tastes like coming home. Like unimaginable light and joy and oh it was _worth it._

"Nigel," _not_ Adam breathes against his lips, his hands clutching at Nigel's shirt as he grinds up against him. 

Nigel's heart is caught in his throat because he had never told _not_ Adam his name. Because his brain is screaming at him that this is _his_ Adam _._ His brilliant, gorgeous, perfect _Adam._ With a growl Nigel lifts him, kisses him breathless as _Adam_ wraps his legs around his waist. He walks them to the bedroom and all but throws _Adam_ onto the bed, covering him with his body as he makes his way down his jaw and across his throat. _Adam_ arches up into him the way he always does, fitting them together the only way they know how. Nigel presses his nose against errant curls, breathing in _his_ Adam as he grinds down against him. _Adam_ , mewls, and all Nigel and hear, all Nigel can see before him is his endless universe.

“Fuck,” Nigel groans, hands moving to divest them of their clothing, lips never leaving _Adam’s._ “Adam,” he gasps, the name a prayer upon his lips. 

" _Nigel," Adam_ whines again, and Nigel is gone. He stops thinking altogether and just moves. Hands finding their cocks and stroking them just so. Just the way he knows _his Adam_ loves. He kisses his way back across _Adam's_ throat, teeth catching in all the right places, making _Adam_ writhe beneath him, pushing into his hand, begging for _more._ Nigel will _always_ give him more. If he could, Nigel will give him the world, the Milky Way, the _universe,_ anything to make his beloved happy.

"Nigel, Nigel, _please," Adam_ begs, earning him a nip to his ear. He bucks up into Nigel's hand, trying to get what he wants, baring his neck further. " _Fuck,_ Nigel," he moans, "I need you inside me, now."

"Fuck, baby, yes," Nigel growls, pressing biting kisses against _Adam's_ ravaged neck. Hands working their way around _Adam's_ balls, pressing down against his perineum before circling his dry hole. "Tell me you have lube."

"Yes," _Adam_ hisses, arching up against him, seeking the friction Nigel was denying him. “Pants. Pocket.”

Nigel has to pull off of him to reach their discarded clothes. He cannot reach them from his perch on top of _Adam_ and has to get off the bed to get to it. The air is cold and sharp without the warmth of _Adam’s_ body pressed against his. He curses under his breath as he digs in one too many pockets before _finally_ fishing out the lube and a condom packet. He debates the condom, because this is _Adam_ and when was the last time he needed to be protected against _Adam._ Only, it’s not _Adam_ is it. _His_ Adam is dead. This, this beautiful boy who reminds him _so much_ of the one he lost is _not_ Adam.

 _Adam_ smiles back at him when he returns to the bed. Pulls him into a savage kiss and pushes him down onto the bed. Strong thighs straddle him as _Adam_ settles heavy on his lap, fingers carding their way through his chest hair, curling around the longer strands, tugging just the way he liked. He reaches up, caresses his face, brushes the hair from his eyes and pulls him back down for a tender kiss. “Hello, gorgeous,” he says against those lips, eyes blurring as _Adam_ grinds down against him.

“Hello, Nigel,” _Adam_ says, tears slipping from his brilliant blue eyes, trailing down his cheeks and falling hot against Nigel’s face. “I need you to fuck me now.”

Nigel laughs. Or he sobs. He doesn’t know which one it is anymore and the next time their lips meet all he can taste is the salt of their combined tears. He works open the lube, coats his fingers and presses in slowly, his fingers searching as he whispers Adam’s name reverently against his lips.

“Nigel,” _Adam_ whines, and the sound is music to his ears. “Nigel, please, I need your cock, not your fingers. So hurry up and fuck me like you mean it already.”

Nigel’s hands falter. He is transported back to that night beneath the stars. That night so very long ago when _his_ Adam was still with him, _dying_ but _alive._ “I’m trying, darling, I’m trying,” Nigel sobs, burying his face in the crook of his neck as he tries to find his rhythm again, to work _Adam_ open the way he liked it.

 _Adam_ pushes down against his fingers, hands carding gently through Nigel’s hair before pulling harshly, yanking his head back so he could devour his mouth again. “I know, Nigel,” _Adam_ says, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling off his hand. He guides Nigel’s hand to his cock, slicking it up before bending down to kiss him again. “I’d like for you to fuck me now.”

“Yes, darling, god yes,” Nigel hisses as _Adam_ maneuvers his cock into position and slowly sinks down onto him. 

Nigel holds his breath as _Adam_ steadily takes his fill, releasing it when he finally bottoms out. _Adam_ fits so perfectly around him, and Nigel’s hands fall to his hips, fingers digging in as he holds him firmly in place. _Adam_ squirms against him, pawing desperately at his hands as he tries to move, so he can take what he wants. Nigel grins up at him, tears falling from his eyes and he thrusts his hips up hard, eliciting that sinfully delicious moan from his beloved.

 _Adam_ howls as he continues to ruthlessly thrust up into him, hands flying to brace himself as Nigel lifts him up only to bring him back down in time with his thrusts. _Adam_ gasps, pushing against his hands to angle his hips, and Nigel cannot hold back the sob as the next stroke grazes _Adam’s_ prostate _just so._

It is as if time had reversed and they were back under the light of a million stars. He can almost smell the grass and the redwoods, taste the sweetness of the California nights. Adam's name is a mantra upon his lips as he releases the grip on his hips, hands sliding down to wrap around _Adam's_ cock and strokes in time with his thrusts.

The stars align. They are one again, lost in the rhythm of their love. _Adam_ takes from him what he wants, _needs._ Nigel is a slave to him, to his desires, moving in tandem with _Adam,_ giving his love everything he is asking for.

 _Adam_ is close, Nigel can smell it. He can feel it in the way his hips stutter. In the way the thighs bracketing him tense, pressing down against him. "Nigel!" _Adam_ screams as he clenches up around him, come splattering against his chest.

Nigel growls, thrusting up into that tight channel, teeth fitting over that perfect column of neck, and bites down, Adam's name escaping him as he comes. He rides out his orgasm, thrusting lazily until _Adam_ is whimpering above him from over sensitivity and he knows it's time to pull out. He pants against his neck, tracing the bite with his tongue before falling back against the bed.

“Please don’t go,” Nigel whispers into _Adam’s_ hair as he pulls him down against him. “Stay with me forever.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, Nigel,” _Adam_ says nuzzling against him before leaning up for another kiss, his eyes shining with the light of a thousand stars.

Nigel sighs as they break the kiss, the taste of _Adam_ lingering on his tongue. He holds him close, fingers carding through too long strands. “I love you so much, Adam.”

 _Adam_ stiffens, shifts as he lifts himself off of Nigel and smiles sadly down at him. “I’m sorry,” he says as the brilliance of those eyes dull and Nigel feels as if his heart is being torn asunder. Like a whisper of smoke, _his_ Adam is gone, and all he's left with is the empty shell of a man. "My name's not Adam," _not_ Adam reminds him, "my name's Aiden."


	3. Death and New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab the tissues. 
> 
> IMO this is the saddest part of the series. This chapter broke me. But it also put me back together again. 
> 
> Song of the Day: [Taste By Sleeping at Last ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyJrfUsI4CI)

Adam wants to scream. He does scream, because who's going to hear him? Certainly not Nigel. He screams and pulls at his hair and makes the motions of throwing everything in Nigel's room. It's too much, it's not enough. He can't,  _ he could. _ He wants to, but he knows he shouldn't. 

Adam screams again. This time he actually makes contact with the small model of The Eagle, with  _ his _ model of The Eagle and sends it flying across the room. 

Nigel stops. He pulls away from the interloper to follow the noise and Adam's soul hurts from the expression on his face. That easy smile Nigel had while kissing the interloper drops and Nigel's expression is pure anguish. Adam wishes he didn't do anything, that he could just sit there and be happy that Nigel is happy, but he's not. He finds he cannot sit idly by and  _ be happy _ that Nigel is kissing  _ not _ him.

Every fiber of his being screams in agony as Nigel picks up the pieces. His hands are shaking, and there are silent tears streaming from his eyes. Adam can hear the mantra of "no's" and his name. He can feel Nigel's hurt as he tries to piece back together the shattered remains of the model. Adam knows that Nigel treasures these knick knacks. These tangible reminders of himself. He also knows that it's a lost cause; piecing that lander back together. It had taken him hours. Tweezers and a magnifying glass. The model crumples in Nigel's shaking hands, the fragile pieces of aluminum no match for his grief. 

Adam can't take it anymore. He can't just stand there while Nigel is falling apart in front of his eyes. The interloper scratches at his hair, watches Nigel from his perch on the bed. He looks like he wants to say something, but Adam sinks into his body before he can, the words dying on his tongue. He flexes his hands, feels the muscles tighten, the rush of blood flowing through his veins. He pushes the hair from his eyes, moves to crouch next to Nigel, a hand hovering over his shoulder. "Nigel, I'm sorry," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Nigel turns, tears spilling from his eyes as he stares blankly down at the crushed lander. "Leave," he hisses through clenched teeth. 

"Nigel," Adam whimpers, hands moving to stroke through Nigel's hair, to comfort and soothe. "Don't send me away, Nigel," he begs, eyes wet. He could not bear to be apart from Nigel now. Not like this. Not when this was  _ his _ fault. "I'm sorry. It was an accident. We can just get a new one."

"Fuck you," Nigel snarls, slapping Adam's hand away from him. He glares at him, the aluminum cutting into his hands. "We can't just  _ get a fucking new one.  _ There is no getting a fucking new one."

"Why not?" Adam asks, hoping Nigel would unclench his fist before the edges of the lander draws blood. "They're only fifteen dollars. The gift shop at Griffith observatory-"

Nigel slams into him, cutting off his words with a hand around his neck. Adam gasps for breath, fingers clawing Nigel's hand, momentarily forgetting that he is already dead, that he is just borrowing this body. Pain and desperation course through him as he tries to pull free, and for the first time in his life (well, afterlife, or actually,  _ ever)  _ he is  _ afraid _ of  _ Nigel. _ There are tears in his eyes, a bruise blooming under Nigel's fingertips, and Adam forces his soul to stay. It is not this  _ Aiden's _ fault that Nigel is currently trying to strangle him to death, it is  _ his. _

"Nigel," Adam manages to squeak out, fingers going slack against Nigel's hand. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels Nigel's grip relax as the first splash of tears hits his hand. He gasps for air as Nigel drops him, scrambling to his feet as quickly as he can, creating as much distance as he can between them. 

"I'm sorry," he says weakly, swallowing a sob as he crosses his arms across his chest, fingers tapping furiously against his bicep. "I'm sorry, I threw the model, I know how much they mean to you, even if I didn't even like that one that much. One of the legs got bent when I was assembling it, and it never really sat right, but I know you never cared about that. I'm sorry I threw it. It was an accident. I just- I just couldn't take it anymore. I'll leave, I'm sorry."

The tears do not stop as Adam flees into the streets. They do not stop as he finds his way further and further from that apartment, from  _ Nigel.  _ They do not stop as he collapses against the side of the church, the one where he first found Nigel in this city.

Adam has forgotten how uncomfortable it is to cry. He has forgotten how much he hates it. That tightening in his chest, that inability to breathe, the hiccups that follow. He hates it, the way the whole world is blurred and how painful it is to have one's eyes rubbed raw. He cannot stop though. He cannot stop the tears, the pain settling in his chest.

Everytime he closes his eyes all he can see is _Nigel. Nigel,_ with a burning hatred in his eyes. Nigel snarling at him, hands wrapped around his neck, _hurting him._ In all the years they've been together, despite _everything, Nigel_ had _never_ looked at him like _that._ _Ever._ Not even when he was having meltdowns and saying all the wrong things. Not when he threw away the last of Nigel's cigarettes and lost the gun Nigel had given him. There had never, ever, been _anything_ that _Adam_ could do to make Nigel look at him like _that._

That’s not to say Adam had never  _ seen _ that look before, because he has. He’s seen Nigel angry. He’s seen Nigel scare people, hurt them, but he had never,  _ never _ experienced it. From the moment they met Nigel had only ever looked at him with love and adoration. Adam had always felt  _ safe _ around Nigel. Nigel  _ protected  _ him. He stood between Adam and  _ anything, anyone _ that could possibly hurt him, even himself. 

Adam hiccups again, fresh tears blooming in his eyes as he folds himself over and buries his head in his knees. He could make this all stop if he just left. Leave this body behind, give it back to  _ Aiden, _ but he doesn't want to leave. He wants Nigel, he wants to  _ feel _ Nigel against him. He wants to  _ taste _ Nigel. He doesn’t want to give up on Nigel. He  _ can’t _ give up on Nigel. Because if he’s not there for Nigel, who would be? This  _ Aiden? _

No.

_ Aiden _ never once managed to make Nigel smile with his eyes. Adam knows. He’s been watching them. Nigel tolerates  _ Aiden,  _ he distracts himself with the man, but he’s not  _ happy. _ Adam knows all this and yet he still couldn't control his jealousy. He couldn’t watch Nigel kiss  _ Aiden _ even though he  _ knew _ it was he who Nigel was thinking of. This is all his fault. It is his fault that Nigel’s upset, it is his fault that he’s crying right now, and it simply isn’t fair to abandon this body now and let  _ Aiden _ deal with the aftermath of  _ his _ actions.

_ Get up. _

Adam sniffles, looks around before realizing that the command is coming from  _ inside _ his head. “What?”

_ Get up, we’re going for a walk. _

It is impossible. He can’t  _ actually _ be hearing  _ Aiden’s _ voice, but then again, a year ago, he would have been convinced that being a ghost was  _ impossible,  _ yet here they are. “Where are we going?” He asks out loud, garnering a couple of strange looks by passersby. 

_ Trust me. _

So Adam trusts him. Trusts the voice inside his head, or more accurately, the voice which belongs to the body he’s currently occupying. They don’t end up going far, just into the woods behind the church. This body knows these woods, and Adam watches fascinated as a pack of wolves circle him, a large male coming up to butt lightly at his hand.

“Hello,” he says, giving the wolf a scratch behind the ears. A tingling sensation washes over him and then his head is suddenly silent. The wolf licks at his hand, nudges at him until Adam meets his eye. Adam doesn’t have to ask to  _ know _ that Aiden’s soul has entered the wolf’s. There is a familiarity in those eyes, and he swears that the wolf smiles at him.

“You’re just  _ giving _ me your body?”

The wolf nods, presses his head under Adam’s hand and nudges him until Adam scratches at his ears again.

“Why?”

Adam can swear he hears the wolf laugh, a howling kind of sound that fills the night air with glee. The wolf can’t speak, and Adam finds himself stuck inside this body. Nipping at the hem of his shirt the wolf guides Adam down to his knees, presses his head against Adam’s and closes his eyes. Adam follows suit and is met with a darkness he has never known before. Then suddenly, there is a single spark of light which grows until he is face to face with Aiden.

“Your souls are bound,” Aiden says. 

“I don’t understand.”

Aiden smiles and settles down next to him. “Honestly, I don’t really understand it either, but your souls are bound. Just as mine is bound to Vivian.”

Adam nods. He still doesn’t quite understand it all, but some things aren’t meant to be understood. What he  _ does _ understand is that he loves Nigel, and that not even death could part them. He’s terrified of going back to Nigel though, terrified of what he will find. He doesn’t think he can take it if Nigel looked at him like that again, if Nigel didn’t want him anymore, love him anymore. Then again,  _ soulbound, _ as Aiden had said. 

Adam spends the night there, in the woods, with the wolves. He needs time. Time to adjust to this new body, new life he has been given. In the morning, he goes at Aiden’s insistence to the little apartment in the so-called heritage building, the one by the chocolate shop.

He spends three days there, reacquainting himself with life, living. Aiden stayed with him for the first day, and then with a bow of his head disappeared back into the woods and Adam hasn’t seen him since. On the third day, Adam finds his way to a barber, gets a proper haircut, relieved that the hair was no longer tickling his nape, falling into his eyes. He finds Aiden’s sketchbook, the one full of drawings of Bucharest and wolves, there is one drawing of Nigel in there and it makes his heart ache. 

Tucking the sketchbook and the satchel of charcoal into a bag he makes his way back up to the church. The steeples seem higher than he remembered, then again, the last time he had climbed up there he didn’t have muscles that could strain. Settling back against the old stones he pulls out the sketchbook and stares up at the sliver of waning moon, waiting.

\-----

Nigel stares at the door long after it is slammed shut. He stares in disbelief, and yet, a part of him had _ known. Adam. His Adam,  _ not some paltry interloper, but  _ his Adam.  _ His brilliant star, his guiding light, his love and his life, his very universe. Ever since that first night by the spire, he had known. Maybe not  _ consciously,  _ but his  _ soul _ had known.

“Fuck,” he screams, fist slamming against the wall. His wrist stings. He traces the vivid red marks lining the outside of it, where the skin had broken when Adam’s nails had dug in. _Adam._ _His_ fucking Adam. With a sob he collapses against the wall, sinking to the ground his head buried in his hands. 

Once upon a time he had promised his Adam that with every heartbeat he had left, he would defend his every breath, when not five minutes ago he had been literally squeezing the life out of him. All for a crumpled piece of aluminum that Nigel  _ knew _ Adam hated. He should have known. He should have  _ seen. _ He would have  _ seen, _ if he had only  _ looked. _ But he didn’t look, not until it was far too late.

Another sob is wrenched out of him and he kicks the destroyed lander, the source of his current grief. He had chosen this worthless piece of aluminum over  _ his _ Adam. 

"Fuck," he curses again, the ghost of hot tears burning against his skin. He had known in that moment that it was Adam beneath him,  _ struggling. _ He had known before the tapping started, before those words fell from his lips. He  _ hurt  _ his Adam. He had snarled at him and  _ put his hands _ on him, and Adam, his beloved Adam, had been terrified.  _ Of him. _

Space and time warps around him, and Nigel cannot count how many hours have slipped by. He blinks in the early morning light, the sun filtering through half closed drapes. He is numb. Hollow. Aching.

Adam is gone, and he fears forever. 

"Oh, fuck me."

Nigel ignores him. Ignores the rough hands pulling him up to his feet, shoving him onto the couch. He flinches slightly when the destroyed lander is placed on the coffee table before him and gratefully takes the bottle of Țuică when it is passed to him.

“Talk to me, nenorocitule.”

Nigel drinks the Țuică. He relishes the burn, and wishes the alcohol could consume him, destroy him from the inside out. "He's gone," Nigel sobs, clutching the bottle like a lifeline. 

Darko sucks in a breath, eyes flittering from the bottle to the ruined lander. Nigel is painfully aware of the pity in those eyes. He's painfully aware of the way Darko holds himself, like he's trying to corral something wounded,  _ feral. _

Perhaps he is. Nigel had lost his humanity the day Adam died. He had lost the other half of his soul and would have gladly gone after it if not for Darko. He doesn't begrudge Darko for forcing him to stay, for keeping him alive. Adam would have been furious if he had done something reckless like that. Adam his beloved Adam who had  _ been there. _ This whole time. His Adam, his heart and soul had been present to bear witness to his unraveling. 

Nigel takes another drink. Hoping to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. "I had him," he bemoans into the bottle. "I fucking had him, Darko,  _ here. _ He was fucking here and I chased him away."

He hadn't intended to throw the bottle, but it shatters on impact against the wall, like so many things in his life. Darko doesn't move, doesn't even flinch, like he had expected it to happen. Nigel wishes he had broken it in his hands, so the glass would cut into his flesh, tear into him as he had tore into his angel. He flexes his hand, the bright red lines of the scratches stinging. Lines where his beloved had to dig into him because he was  _ choking _ him, and not in the fun way.

Thirty fucking years. Thirty fucking years he's been bashing in skulls and tearing out lives, and not once had he regretted any of it. Not once did any of those lives  _ matter, _ and quite frankly it wouldn't have mattered, if it hadn't been  _ his _ Adam beneath his hands.

The thing is, he _knew_ it wasn't _his_ Adam in the beginning of the night. He would have known. _His_ Adam and _not_ Adam tasted different. He should have known the moment _not_ Adam became _his_ Adam. He should have fucking known. He had known every other time, but he had been so wrapped up in that fucking lander that he had failed to see it, not until it was too late.

Nigel brings his hands to his face. He can't stop the tears, the helpless sobs escaping him. He feels gutted, wrecked. Like Adam had died all over again. 

He half expects Darko to call him a pussy, but Darko doesn't say anything. He just sits there. He doesn't touch him, doesn't try to comfort him. Nigel is vaguely aware of movement next to him and almost chokes on a sob, torn between crying and laughing when Darko pulls out another bottle. He takes a long draught before handing it over to Nigel, getting his fill before it is inevitably flung across the room to join its predecessor.

"I don't think you can ever chase him away," Darko offers after a long beat of silence. Nigel wipes at his face and chases the taste of his tears with fermented plums. 

Nigel simply shakes his head. Takes another swig of alcohol and collapses back into the couch, eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't formulate the words to express what he had done, not without tearing out his heart again. Perhaps Darko is right, perhaps there is nothing in the world he could possibly do to chase his brilliant star away from him. Or perhaps he has finally become that black hole he had always dreaded and has already consumed him whole. 

Three days. Nigel spends three days drowning himself in Țuică and waiting for his Adam to return. Darko comes and goes, as he always does, staying long enough to ensure Nigel was still alive before disappearing again.

In all honesty, Nigel's not sure  _ how _ he's still alive, nor is he sure how he ended up before the Loups-Garoux cathedral again, but here he is. He stares up at the spiraling steeples. He sees blue eyes and sweet smiles. He sees death and new life. Supernovas and nebulas. His heart and his soul. 

His feet bring him up to the top of the steeples. To the ledge before the highest spire, the one where he first met  _ not _ Adam. The one where he felt _ complete _ for the first time since his Adam laid cold and hard in his arms. It seems fitting, that it should end where it began. He only hopes that Adam would forgive him.

"Nigel?"

Nigel's heart stops. His eyes fall to the figure leaning against the spire, to the sketchbook in his hands, the rendition of the night's star chart.  _ "Adam." _

"What are you doing here?" Adam asks, putting aside the sketchbook to come to a stand. He looks at Nigel. He looks at Nigel with an expression that tears through Nigel's soul and leaves him ravaged and aching.

Nigel cannot bring himself to say it. He cannot bear to look his beloved in the eye and tell him that he was going to fling himself off the side of a church because he could no longer tolerate that ache in his heart. Because every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is  _ Adam,  _ looking back at him  _ in fear.  _

Adam's not looking at him like that now. Instead, there is a different kind of fear there. Nigel doesn't know what to do, where to focus. He can't close his eyes because the image is still there,  _ haunting him. _ And Adam, oh beautiful,  _ gorgeous,  _ perfect, _ Adam,  _ is right there, staring at him in disbelief, fear haunting his eyes. Nigel chooses instead to stare at the ledge. At the twinkling of the city sprawled beneath them. Three steps is all it would take, to end this, to end his suffering.

He doesn't notice Adam move, not until his all too familiar arms encircle him. He doesn't move, cannot bear to look as Adam presses up against him, tucks his face up against his favorite spot, that tattoo on his neck. "Nigel," he repeats, nose rubbing against him, voice so soft Nigel would certainly have missed it if he hadn't been pressed up against him. "What are you doing here?"

"I-" Nigel stammers, tears slipping from his eyes, falling heavy and wet against the gentle curl of Adam's hair. It's shorter now, the way he always wore it, the way Nigel  _ remembered _ it. "You left me. You left me, and you never came back."

"You told me to leave."

"No, no, never," Nigel whispers, arms moving to pull Adam closer, burying his face in his hair. "I didn't know. I-" Nigel sighs, lifts his head to stare up at the sky. Taurus is there, snorting down at him, and he almost wants to laugh. His eyes trail North, past Perseus to settle among Cassiopeia. He knows that up there, buried between the stars, thousands of light-years away, reside his heart and soul. "I thought it was  _ not _ you."

"You were kissing him," Adam accuses, and Nigel can feel the wetness against his skin. His heart sinks, pooling sharply in his gut.

"I was," Nigel admits. "I was kissing him because I was missing  _ you,  _ but he's  _ not _ you, Adam. He could _ never _ be  _ you.  _ You, my Little Prince, my laughter in the stars, my light in the dark, my alpha and omega, my beginning and my end, my all consuming universe. I-" Nigel stops. Swallows down the sob bubbling up in his throat.

Adam shudders against him, head shaking from side to side as he smears his tears against Nigel's flesh. Nigel's hands move to stroke through his hair, nail scraping gently against Adam's scalp, just the way he liked it.

"I'm sorry, darling," Nigel murmurers against him. "It's you, it's always you, my beloved, my brilliant cosmo."

"I know," Adam says, words buried against his flesh. "I know, I've always known, but you seemed so content, kissing  _ him." _

Nigel sighs. Presses a kiss to Adam's temple before moving to lift his chin. He hates it. The vision of Adam with tears in his eyes, face red and blotchy, not beautifully flushed with arousal. "I hate it, darling. I hate kissing  _ not _ you. It's wrong. It feels wrong, it tastes wrong, but for fleeting moments in time,  _ you're there.  _ You're there to chase away all the pain, the loneliness, the emptiness. For flashes of time it's  _ worth it, _ because it's  _ you. You _ find your way back to me and I'm complete again, and for those moments, it's worth it, suffering through  _ not  _ you."

"He says we're soulbound."

"Yeah," Nigel scoffs, a genuine smile breaking across his lips. "Didn't need him to tell me that. My heart, my soul, it only exists for you, my darling, my  _ Adam." _

Adam nods. That spark in his eyes is back, and Nigel  _ almost _ forgets that look of fear which had consumed it once. "Kiss me, Nigel."

"Yes, darling," Nigel breathes, fingers tangling in Adam's short cropped hair, tugging it just right as he pressed their lips together.

The kiss is sweet bittersweet, it's poetry. It feels like the careful pruning of his dead leaves. Suddenly, he's alive, and awake, and completely aware of what light tastes like. His Adam is back, here in his arms, and it feels like his fists are finally unraveling, the glass unshattering, like he's swallowing light until he's fixed from the inside. 

Adam's hands caress his face as they break for air. His eyes pin him in a way they have never done before. That soft smile which had graced his face falters, fades with a furrowing of his brows and Adam takes a small step back. "What are you doing here, Nigel?" He asks again, releasing Nigel to cross his arms across his chest. 

"I wanted to feel, tectonic shifts-”

“Stop,” Adam demands, fingers tapping furiously at his arms and Nigel fights the urge to pull him back into his arms. “I don’t want to hear you wax poetic right now. I want you to answer the question.”

"I..." Nigel pulls his gaze away, his eyes tracing out the 'W' of Cassiopeia. "I came to see the stars."

"Bullshit." Nigel's head whips back around the moment that word leaves Adam's lips. Adam doesn't curse much. In fact, Nigel could probably count on his two hands all the times he's ever heard Adam curse outside of sex. In fact, every single one of those times involved a lie slipping from Nigel's lips.

Nigel's hands curled into fists. He doesn't want to fight with Adam, not now, not ever, and especially not like this. When both their hearts are still raw, and Nigel still can't quite get that image of Adam,  _ terrified,  _ of _ him, _ out from behind his lids. 

"What do you want me to say, darling?" Nigel asks, eyes darting between Adam and the ledge. "That I came up here to throw myself off? To find out what the distance is between death and new life?"

"Why?" Adam asks, voice breaking on that one word, and Nigel would have given anything to take it all back. Adam looks so broken. Betrayed. Nigel had sworn a lifetime ago that he would never,  _ never, _ be the cause of that expression again, and yet, here they are. 

"Because!" Nigel screams, turning to slam his fist into the stone. "You had promised me the stars! You told me that light carries on endlessly, even after death. But then you died. You died and I was left all alone in the dark."

"I never left you," Adam says, and it breaks his heart because he knows it's true. 

These past three days have proven to him that his Adam had always been there.  _ Always.  _ Even when Nigel himself wasn't all there, his Adam had been. He knows now that he had survived the past year because Adam had never truly left him, because for the first time  _ ever  _ he knew what the absence of Adam felt like.

"I lost you," Nigel whispers, remembering distinctly that sinking feeling in his heart the moment Adam turned away from him. Nigel collapses onto the floor, knees drawn as he buries face in them. "I had done the one thing I promised myself I'd never do, I  _ hurt you _ and you left."

\-----

Adam hadn't meant to leave. Or rather he did, because Nigel had asked him to.  _ Because Nigel had terrified him _ , but he's had three days to think it through. To replay what happened and everything that Aiden had told him. 

He just needed a little time. He had every intention of going back to Nigel, not because they were  _ soulbound _ , but because he couldn't stand the thought of a world without Nigel. 

Nigel would have taken it all away from him. Nigel would have  _ left _ him, just when he had figured out a way back to him. It would have been a sick twist of fate, like the gift of the Magi, but fate was on their side. Fate had brought him to the church the same night Nigel would have made the biggest mistake of his life. 

The old Adam would never have believed in something so trivial as fate, but then again the old Adam had known nothing of ghosts and apparently werewolves and soulbonds.

Adam's heart aches to see Nigel so emotional. He settles down next to him, runs his fingers through greasy unwashed hair and pulls him flush against him. Nigel shifts, buries his head against Adam's chest and clings to him as Adam continues to stroke him. 

"You scared me, Nigel," Adam says, remembering that look of absolute loathing in Nigel's eyes. "I never thought I could be scared of you."

"Oh baby, no," Nigel says, straightening up, hands settling against Adam's face as he pins him with his eyes.

Adam can feel the heat of his stare. It makes him uncomfortable as it always does, but he doesn't look away. He needs to see, he needs Nigel to see. He hates it. This feeling of being laid bare, but he endures it. Endures it so that Nigel can understand that he's not scared of him  _ anymore.  _

He's had three days to think about it. He understands that Nigel was confused. That his anger and hatred had been directed towards  _ Aiden _ and  _ not _ him. "It's okay, Nigel," he says, eyes finally darting away to settle on Nigel's lips.

"No, no, it's not darling," Nigel insists. He shifts, leans back against the ledge and pulls Adam onto his lap. Adam sighs, sinking into Nigel's warmth as his arms fold around him. Nigel tucks his head against the crook of his neck, chest pressed up against Adam's back. "Out of the woods, out of the dark, I'm well aware of the shadows in my heart."

"So am I."

"Yeah, gorgeous?"

"Yes, Nigel." Adam says. Turns to place an awkward kiss against Nigel's lips and settles back down against him. "You were scared. You had thought you lost something sacred, and I, well I was a ghost in possession of someone else's body. It was foolish of me to presume that you  _ knew _ it was me."

"I should have known though."

"Yes," Adam agrees. "You should have, but you didn't. And you released me the moment you did."

"Yeah, I suppose I did." Nigel noses at his neck, pauses when he finds one of the bruises his fingers had left behind and presses a tender kiss against it. "It's still not right though. I'm sorry that I hurt you, darling, that I frightened you and marked you this way. Right now, we're nothing less than a work in progress, sacred text on Post-it notes."

Adam smiles. He had missed this.  _ This. _ Nigel whispering nonsense words against his skin as he held him. He gets it though. He usually doesn't, as Nigel generally doesn't make a lot of sense when he starts waxing poetic, but  _ this _ he gets. For too long they've been existing in a world in pieces, but every fracture is like a running river, leading them back to their golden coast.

"Adam Raki," Nigel whispers in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Adam burrows deeper against him, pressing impossibly close, and he imagines he could feel Nigel's heart beating against his back. "You are my light. And I'll swallow my pride, as I swallow you down, until we're fixed from the inside."

"Promise?"

"I promise, darling," Nigel says, and Adam turns his head again. Allows Nigel to seal his promise with a kiss and swallow him up. He can feel that light ignite inside of him, he imagines he can feel it slipping into Nigel, illuminating all those dark corners in his heart, chasing away shadows until they  _ are _ fixed from the inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be the happy ending, and the ending is happy. Our boys reunite. They are given a second chance, but the road to happiness is paved in tears. Adam's, Nigels, yours, mine. 
> 
> It is over now though. I promise no more killing Adam Raki from me. Just fluffy spacedogs from here on out (with a dash of angst because who am I without agnst)
> 
> Thank you for braving this journey with me. Thank you Dev and Mars for all your tears. I never could have done this without you.


End file.
